


Maybe You'll Think of Me When You're All Alone

by SOMETHINREAL



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Mild Angst, Minor Violence, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Snaf went soft but he won't let it show, Some Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 14:45:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16894596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SOMETHINREAL/pseuds/SOMETHINREAL
Summary: When he opens the door, his brain, heart, and stomach, all seem to drop consecutively out of his ass.“Evenin’, Sledgehammer.”(alternatively: Merriell shows up at Eugene's apartment six months after he left him alone on that train. Feelings ensue.)





	Maybe You'll Think of Me When You're All Alone

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first work in this fandom so i'm not sure if it's any good characterization wise kjdfksdk. also important PSA: don't use the term jap. just don't. I tried not to use it so much in this but it was unavoidable because that's what they would've called the enemy. don't use it outside of this stuff! it's a really gross word okay  
> also also the violence is there but it's not graphic?? it's mostly in the form of flashbacks  
> title from maybe by the ink spots

 

Eugene hasn’t done much with his life since he moved out of his parent’s house a few months ago. Sometimes he feels bad for leaving them like that. But he couldn’t stay. Not with his mother always nagging him, expecting him to go back to normal after being shipped away for so long. After the things he’s seen. The things he’s done. Not with his father persistent on getting him to do things he’s knows goddamn well as a doctor that Eugene isn’t comfortable with doing. Not with his brother, urging him to go out and find a broad to marry, to start a family. He couldn’t bear it any longer.

So he moved away. Or at least to another part of Mobile. Far enough away that they don’t bother him. Close enough that if they really need him, they can just drive across the city. 

His apartment looks out onto the water, and it would be nice if it weren’t for the mess. Eugene can’t really bring himself to do much of anything anymore, especially not clean. It isn’t so much dirty as it is messy (ignoring the plates that are scattered around). There’s old newspapers and books and clothes everywhere. And it’s a little dusty. Yeah, maybe it’s dirtier than he thought. Yet, Eugene still can’t bring himself to care about it. Hell, he hardly even remembers to shower most of the time. 

He remembers nothing and everything from the war, simultaneously. It’s like it’s there, ever-brewing up in his mind, close enough to see but too far away to touch. It’s like he was never really there. Like he imagined it. Except he knows he didn’t. He knows his mind could never be that cruel. He knows that everytime he hears a car backfire that he will startle and that he dreads the time the Fourth of July will come and that he doesn’t even want to get into bed at night because he knows that he will be taken back to hell. He knows that when he takes walks in the park to calm himself down and he hears a twig snap he will around to expect a Jap but will instead be faced with a squirrel trying to find a home and not somebody waiting to kill him. 

And maybe that’s the worst part about it. Sure, combat is awful. Eugene would rather be pulled limb from limb than put on his uniform and go back into combat. But at least with combat you get two options. You either die, or you go home wondering why you didn’t. Eugene’s not quite sure which one is worse, but he knows that he would give anything not to go to sleep to be ultimately woken out of a dream where the enemy are killing his friends and holding him hostage and slicing off every single one of his appendages to laugh at him while he bleeds out; to not wake up every night in a cold sweat with tears running down his face, screaming because he was back and he couldn’t do anything about it. 

He can’t really work anywhere that’ll have too many sudden noises and people, so he works some shifts at the library sometimes, just to say he’s doing something. He doesn’t need the extra pocket change; the only way his parents would let him out of their sight after what they pictured him going through was to cover every expense he needed. Who was Eugene to say no? Besides, it’s not like they hadn’t paid for everything before the war anyways. 

If there’s one thing he misses, it’s his friends. He still talks to Sid. Sometimes he meets him and Mary for breakfast. Sometimes coffee. Sometimes Bill and Burgie send him letters. They’re usually just to make sure he’s okay and asking if he’s found anybody yet. The answer to both those questions is no, but he doesn’t let them onto it. Sometimes he writes back and makes things up to make his life seem more interesting. To make it seem like he’s coping better. But there’s one thing he can’t get out of his mind. God, he can’t even think of his name without feeling a mixture of emotions he can’t even begin to describe. Heartbreak. Anger. Sadness. Confusion. Something like that. 

The coffee machine dings in the kitchen, letting Eugene know it’s ready. 

He gets up from the armchair in the living room, the one he’d bought cheap that’s missing stuffing in some spots but big enough for him to curl up into under a fleece with a book. Enough to offer him some comfort when he’s got nothing. 

The coffee helps him stay awake. He doesn’t like sleeping most of the time, knowing what comes with it and ultimately not wanting that. He’d rather get an hour or two and then stay up the rest of the night without the fear of anything coming back to him. It’s not healthy, he knows it isn’t but he hasn’t got any better ideas, and he’s definitely not going to ask anyone for advice. Or maybe he  _ should  _ go to a doctor. Maybe they’ll prescribe him something that’ll fuck him up enough to the point where he’s not even sleeping, he’s knocked out, mind blank, finally getting the rest he deserves. He doesn’t even think they make something like that, but God he wishes they did. It would be the miracle drug. 

He’s halfway through stirring sugar into his coffee when a knock sounds at the door. 

He almost doesn’t want to get it. Screw almost, he absolutely does not want to answer it, because his hair is oily and he probably smells awful and he’s just not in the mood. He just wants to curl up with his coffee and his book and the side cocktail of cranberry juice and vodka that he pairs with most nights. He doesn’t want to, but he has to. He leaves the spoon in his cup and trudges over to the door. 

When he opens it, his brain, heart, and stomach, all seem to drop consecutively out of his ass. 

“Evenin’, Sledgehammer.” 

There is no way this is happening. He’s gotta be drugged or something. Or drunk. Or sleeping. Maybe in a second a Japanese soldier will jump out of the closet and snipe the both of them. Would that be better than this? Somehow miraculously having Merriell Snafu Shelton at his doorway in Mobile, Alabama, after not having seen him for six months, six months of wondering why he awoke alone on that train, not a friend of his in sight, not a sign of Merriell in his sight? Merriell isn’t even supposed to be here. He lives in New Orleans. How did he even get Eugene’s address?

Merriell is the same person and someone Eugene doesn’t know all at once. He’s still got his mop of unruly curls, his eyes are still wide and piercing. His skin is still tan, he still smirks, his voice is still that uninterested sounding drawl. He’s still tall. He’s still Merriell; but he’s different. He’s not in his uniform, for one. But why would he be? Eugene has become so accustomed to him in uniform that he couldn’t imagine what he’d look like in normal clothes.  He’s dressed in slacks and a t-shirt. Utterly plain. He’s skinny, like he hasn’t eaten in a day or two, but Eugene just brushes it off as though the layers of clothes they used to wear hid that. (He also chooses to ignore the fact that Merriell used to strip whenever he could, so Eugene knows how he looked before). 

He’s different. It’s like he’s not even there. Like he’s a ghost, like if Eugene reaches out a trembling hand Merriell will just vaporize into nothing and he’ll be left alone again. Eugene wants to believe that he’s imagining this, but at the same time, he wants to take this and run with it, never to turn back, never to let him go again. 

“You gon’ say somethin’, or you gon’ just stand there looking pretty?”

“What the  _ fuck  _ are you doing here?” Eugene isn’t sure if that’s a good enough answer or not but his brain is whirring and he can’t catch a break long enough to think of something better. Merriell’s typical smirk dies down, just a little bit, like he’s hiding something. Like he thinks he’s unwanted. Eugene isn’t sure if he  _ is  _ wanted. 

“Can I come in?”

“Not until you answer my damn question, Snafu."

Maybe Eugene shouldn’t be so harsh. Then again, he’s exhausted and confused and mad. Six months ago, Merriell left him on that train without saying goodbye. Despite all of the things they went through, despite how strong their friendship had become. He just left him, all alone, to wake up back in Alabama with no sight of anyone he knew, wondering if he did something, said something wrong that could have made Merriell leave him all alone on that damn train. Without even a goddamn note. 

“I came to see you, Sledge. It’s been a while, huh?”

“How did you get my address? I never gave it to you. And I was living somewhere else even if I did.” Maybe Eugene shouldn’t be asking so many questions. Maybe he should just let Merriell in. Or maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe he should close the door in his face without a goodbye so he knows how it feels. But Eugene can’t do that. He’s too soft, too kind for that. He couldn’t ever intentionally hurt someone he cares about. Or, used to care about. 

“I asked around for a Eugene B. Sledge. Got me somewhere.” 

“Mobile’s a big city.”

“I’ve had time,” Merriell says, like that explains everything. It just leaves Eugene with more questions. 

For some reason, he remembers his coffee at this exact moment. He doesn’t say anything, just holds the door open wider and steps inside, hoping Merriell will get the jist. He resumes what he was doing before, fishing through the fridge for the half-empty carton of cream, adding a splash into his coffee. He hears the door click shut, the sound of shoes being taken off, and then socked feet padding against the hardwood. 

“Awful late to be showing up at people’s houses uninvited,” Eugene says, because he can feel Merriell’s presence, probably leant against the wall in that cool cocky way he always used to relax in conversation. And it’s not late; it’s hardly ten o’clock, but Eugene doesn’t know what to say. He needs something to fill the deafening silence. 

Merriell clears his throat. “I can go, Sledge. If you don’t want me here, I ain’t planning on bothering you by bein’ here.”

It’s not like Merriell, not like  _ Snafu  _ to be like this. So accepting of defeat. He used to be dismissive and defiant. He’s different now. But going by that logic, Eugene figures he’s different too. 

“No,” Eugene says. It sounds more pleading than he’d like. He looks over his shoulder. “Don’t go. I’m just… Processing.”

“Processin’, huh?” Merriell asks in that typical drawl, the blip of a difference in persona gone as soon as it had shown. “Ain’t much to process, Sledgehammer. I’m here now, a few minutes ago I wasn’t.”

“Why  _ are  _ you here?” He doesn’t want it to sound rude, and he doesn’t think it does, but he’s so tired he isn’t even sure. “I mean, you can’t have just gotten up and decided to find me for no reason.” 

“See, that’s exactly it, Sledge,” Merriell says, grinning lazily. “No reason. Jus’ thought we could catch up.”

“You couldn’t even say goodbye to me, but you want to catch up? Like we’re fucking golfing buddies or something?”

The grin drops. Merriell teeters on his toes for a moment like he’s thinking of something to retort, an excuse, maybe even an explanation, but then he walks away. Dismissive like always. Snafu had never been one for confrontation. Eugene holds in a scoff and follows him into the lounge. 

“I can barely see the floor in here,” Merriell says mindlessly, fingers grazing a newspaper from a few weeks ago. He doesn’t mean it with any malice, no joke for once, but Eugene can’t help but feel embarrassed. He doesn’t want people to know how he lives. Can’t let them in on how things really go for him.  Eugene falls into the armchair, replacing his coffee for his vodka cranberry. Merriell sits on the couch across from him, eyebrows furrowed. “Ain’t you already got a drink?”

“This one,” Eugene says, pointing to the coffee, “is to keep me awake and warm.” He settles back into his seat, sipping diligently at the alcohol. “And this one,” he raises his glass, “is to make sure I don’t go insane.”

“What’s in ‘em?”

“That one’s coffee. This is vodka with a little cranberry juice because I still can’t drink alcohol straight.” 

Merriell gets that stupid smirk back once again. “Like the way you think, Gene.”

Eugene shrugs. “Just a habit.” 

Silence settles over the two of them for a while. Merriell eyes the alcohol enough that Eugene pushes the last of it across the table for him to have the rest of. He’s not quite sure what he should say to Merriell. Why did you leave me without saying goodbye? Why did you decide to show up six months later? Why are you sitting on my sofa drinking my damn vodka cranberry? Why am I letting you? It just doesn’t sound right in his head. 

“When was the last time you showered, Sledge?” Shit. It’s not that bad, is it?

“I don’t smell bad, do I?” Eugene asks self consciously, leaning down to sniff at himself like a dog. 

Merriell smiles. “Nah. Jus’ look like you haven’t in a while.” If Eugene didn’t know him, he’d think Snafu was telling the truth, but he knows him. He can see in his eyes that he’s lying. 

“Two, three days, I think?” Eugene says, trying to count back, but he can’t think of it. It’s been a long time. Too long. His clothes are going to start walking on their own soon. “Maybe four? I haven’t really kept track.” 

The smile falls, ever so slightly. It’s like Snafu doesn’t want Eugene to know that he’s got feelings. It’s like he wants him to think that he’s that same guy that used to steal gold out of Jap’s mouths, that used to throw stones into the vacant wounds in the corpses, like the war made him hard, like it lasted without anything ever faltering. It’s like Merriell wants him to think that he’s not even human. But he’s not as good at pretending as he used to be. That’s where Eugene can see the falter. That’s where Eugene can tell that he put on his brave face for the war, lost his humanity in the battlefield, but gained it back as soon as he stepped back onto real land. Right back onto that train. That’s where Eugene can tell that the war chipped big chunks out of him, even though Merriell doesn’t want it to show. 

“Are you alright, Gene?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Snaf.”

“I mean, how are you getting through it?” 

“I could ask you the same thing,” Eugene repeats. He hopes that Merriell can tell that he doesn’t want to talk about it. It’s not that he’s not ready or that he’s not comfortable, because even though he hasn’t seen Merriell in months, he knows that Merriell knows better than anyone what he went through. He knows the mud and the grime and the blood and the having to detach yourself from all human emotion. If anything, feels most comfortable talking about it with Merriell. But maybe that’s what he’s scared of. He trusts someone who left him like nothing so much and he shouldn’t. 

“Sledgehammer,” Merriell says. Eugene looks away, opting for chugging his coffee instead of having to answer. “ _ Eugene _ . When was the last time you slept?” What is this? Compassion? Caring? From Snafu? It’s nearly unheard of. 

“I don’t, really,” Eugene tells him honestly. “And whenever I do it doesn’t last for long since I get nightmares. You know. Normal marine stuff. The foxholes. The sounds. All the dyin’. I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“‘Kay, fine. We won’t talk about it. What you wanna talk ‘bout, then, Sledge?”

“Why are you in Alabama?”

Merriell pauses to think. “Had’ta get outta New Orleans for a little. Some stuff went down, nothin’ you need’ta concern yourself with, Sledge. I figured, might as well go where my feet take me. So I got to ‘Bama. Realized you live here n’ started askin’ around for ya’. Lotta people knew you, but not many know where ya’ live. You know that? You’re like a damn celebrity. A Goddamn war hero or somethin’, Sledge.”

“S’just ‘cause my parents are popular. My old man’s a good doctor. And everyone knows my brother. They all know me by default,” Eugene tells him, trying to brush it off like it’s nothing, because he’s rather not think about people saying he’s a hero for killing people in cold blood. Snafu shrugs. 

“Rented out a motel for a while. Owner’s givin’ it to me half price for helpin’ around n’ stuff. I pick up odd jobs here n’ there.”

Eugene furrows his eyebrows at him. “How long have you been here?”

“A month and a half, maybe.” 

A month and a half. Merriell has been here for six whole weeks and Eugene didn’t even have the slightest clue. He’s not sure if he should be upset or what. It’s just strange. He wonders if Merriell has been looking for him that whole time or if he was just a stray intrusive thought in Merriell’s head. He hates to say it, but he wishes it were the former, even though he knows he’s probably wrong.

“Damn. Okay.” Eugene’s not quite sure what else he can say. Merriell doesn’t seem to either; toying with his fingers in his lap, chewing on his lip. His knee is bouncing. He’s itching for a smoke. “You can smoke in here, Snaf, I don’t mind.”

“You still smoke?” Snafu asks, fishing through his pants for his pack. 

“My pipe, sometimes,” Eugene tells him, watching him spark up and take a drag. “I don’t smoke cigarettes all that often. Not as crisp. Not as clean.”

“Why don’t it smell in here then?” Merriell asks.

“Burn a lotta candles.”

Merriell chuckles. “Seems like you, don’t it?” 

Eugene shrugs, smiling tinily. Yeah, it does seem like something he’d do, doesn’t it? 

“Look, Snaf, I should probably have a shower and get to bed.” When he glances over at the clock, it shows that it’s nearly eleven. How he and Merriell have been doing whatever this was for nearly an hour confuses him, but he brushes it off. He doesn’t want to go to sleep, not really, but he’s not sure how much of this he can stand. And is he really going to ask what he’s planning on doing?

“Oh,” Merriell says. “That’s alright, Sledgehammer. I should probably be heading back, too. Bars are callin’ my name.”

“No,” Eugene says, shaking his head, and God, he really is going to do this, isn’t he? “I-- Do you want to stay? You don’t have to, obviously, I was just--” he breaks off when Merriell glances up at him, a mixture of amused and incredulous. “Just wondering.”

“Sure thing, Sledge. Glad you asked. Was wonderin’ when you were gonna realize you can’t get rid’a me that easy.” 

“I don’t have an extra room,” Eugene blurts. Merriell raises his eyebrows. “You can take my bed. I’ll sleep on the floor or something.” In truth, the reason he gives up his bed is because he doesn’t want to endure what he knows comes with it. Merriell rolls his eyes. 

“You’re fuckin’ batshit if you think I’m makin’ you sleep on the floor of your own damn house. I’ll take the fuckin’ couch, Gene. Keep ya’ bed.”

Eugene nods solemnly. At least he tried. “Alright. You want some night clothes or something?”

“I ain’t wearin’ none of your pretty boy shit, Sledge. Kinda fucking question is that?” But he’s smiling. For a second, Eugene is smiling too.

“What, you think I sleep in twenty five dollar silk pajamas every night?” Eugene asks, cocking his head. He’s joking, of course, rich parents aside, he would never let them spend that much on something so trivial. 

“I dunno, maybe.”

“I sleep in a t-shirt and thirty cent boxers, you dick.”

“Coulda fooled me.”

Eugene shakes he head, scoffing. “Whatever, Shelton. Offer still stands. I got some stuff I’ve never worn that I could let you borrow. Or have, for all I care. Bathroom is second door on the left. I’ll probably be out in fifteen minutes or so. Blankets are in the cupboard beside. If you need anything, holler. I probably won’t get much sleep, but I should hit the sack. I’ll see you in the morning, Snaf.”

Merriell tosses his cigarette butt in Eugene’s old vodka glass. “See you then, Sledge.”

 

-

 

It’s dark and dirty, loud with the sounds of bombs going off in he distance, gunfire rapid, raucous in his ears. He’s taken cover behind a sheet of concrete, with Snafu and Burgie beside him, the night sky doing nothing to calm him.  He shoots down Jap after Jap, just trying to clear the damn area so they can get to the rest of their company. He can barely see in the dark, having woken up to intense gunfire, his eyes not yet adjusted to the pitch darkness. He doesn’t even have time to blink, aiming and shooting blindly, hoping that with all the practice he’s got, he’ll do good enough. 

“Cease fire,” Burgie tells them, and Eugene and Snafu both lower their weapons. “Clear.”

Snafu jumps out first, Eugene and Burgie following after, hands wrapped around their guns, fingers resting beside the trigger. 

“What a load of asshats,” Snafu scoffs incredulously, wiping mud from his cheek with the inside of his jacket’s sleeve. “Fucking dicks. Give us a fucking--” 

Eugene sees it before it happens. 

The knife is small and sharp, and hits Snafu in the side before Eugene can even get a word of warning to him. Burgie shoots the straggler in the head before Eugene can; the Jap must have been hiding behind the other sheet of torn up concrete from the bunker one of them had blown up a week and a half ago. All Eugene can do is yell at the top of his at the top of his lungs before he runs over to Snafu, who’s spasming on the dirty ground, spitting up blood.

“Snaf,” Eugene bites out, falling to his knees beside him. “I’ll help you, don’t worry, you’re fine, it’s fine.” Merriel screams in agony when Eugene pulls the blade out, but Eugene can’t dwell on it. “Fucking cover me, Burgie,” he says, glancing up at Burgie, who stands there shocked, but nods nonetheless. Eugene presses his hands to the wound to stop the constant flow of blood, but it’s no use. 

“Don’t bother,” Merriell chokes out, spitting blood into the mud. “I’m dying, Sledge.”

The same words that he’d uttered months ago back when things weren’t so bad, but now they hold such a high meaning that Eugene cant help but choke out a sob. 

“No, Snaf, I got you, don’t worry. You’ll be  _ fine _ .”

“Wake up, Sledge.”

“What?” Eugene asks.

“Sledge.  _ Eugene _ . Wake  _ up _ .”

And suddenly he’s not in the battlefield anymore. He’s in his bed, panting, with tears rolling down his face. And Merriell isn’t dead at all, he’s standing next to Eugene, looking down at him in concern. A dream. A fucking nightmare. Fucking figures. Eugene hasn’t had one about his friends in a while, but of course, as soon as one walks back into his life, that’s exactly what goes wrong. 

“Gene,” Merriell says softly, like Eugene will break if he’s too loud. “Gene, you-- you were yellin’ for me. Thought you needed my help. Thought you’d hurt yourself or somethin’ and needed me. But you were still sleeping.”

“Fucking dreams. Fucking Japs. You-- you--”

“Died?” Eugene can’t bring himself to say it, so he just nods. He’s still crying. “I know, Sledge. It’s okay.” Merriell sighs, not like it’s a burden, but like he gets it. Maybe that’s the most comfort Eugene is going to get tonight, but it’s better than being by himself again. “Hey,” Merriell says. He touches Eugene’s shoulder, but Eugene flinches in something he cannot put his finger on. When Merriell makes a move to pull away, Eugene takes hold of his wrist and pulls him back in place. “I’m right here, Gene. I ain’t going nowhere.” 

“Sorry for waking you up,” Eugene says monotonously, wiping his tears with the palms of his hands. Merriell shakes his head. 

“Didn’t wake me up.” 

Eugene glances at the clock. “It’s four in the morning.”

“You ain’t the only one who can’t sleep at night.” Eugene nods slowly. They share a glance, a conversation without words, and then Eugene is moving over and letting Merriell into bed with him. Merriell pulls him so that he’s resting his head on Merriell’s shoulder and he’s holding Eugene tight. A wave of nostalgia washes over him. They used to do this a lot back in Peleliu. Even back in Pavuvu. Got them some weird looks sometimes, but people didn’t really care. Merriell used to hold him like this when he would wake up shaking from the bombs going off in the distance, held him like this when it really set in that Hillbilly was gone, after Eugene saw Ack Ack on that stretcher, when Hamm died, when they couldn’t get comfort anywhere else. They always had each other. And yeah, Merriell was a dick sometimes. Even to Eugene, but he always had his back. He was always like Eugene’s over protective shadow. He was always the person Eugene was closest to.

“Will you stay?” Eugene asks, voice small when he asks. “With me, tonight?”

“I told you, Gene. I ain’t going anywhere.”

And for once, Eugene finally sleeps  _ well _ . 

 

-

 

They keep it up for a few weeks. The both of them seem to sleep better when the other is there holding them, a constant reassurance. It’s a little weird at first when they don’t have anything to be genuinely scared of, when they know they’re safe, but when they forget, it’s nice to have the other there. Sometimes Eugene crashes at Merriell’s motel, which has peeling wallpaper and a mattress stained with something Eugene doesn’t even want to know the origins of, but has a big tub that he can imagine Merriell soaking in and a cigarette and tobacco machine right outside its door. Usually though, they stay at Eugene’s apartment. It’s cozier, for one, cleaner now that Eugene actually has something to clean for, and he’s actually got a decent coffee machine. 

 

-

 

(Eventually, when they decide that this is for the good of their health, Snafu makes Eugene promise not to wake him up if he’s ever having a nightmare because he doesn’t want to accidentally hurt Eugene. Eugene agrees with reluctance, unsure if he’ll be able to watch his friend like that, but if it’s what Merriell wants, he’ll deliver). 

 

-

 

They spend more time with each other outside of sleeping too. When they both of them aren’t working, Eugene takes Merriell around Mobile and shows him all of the places that he used to love. They spend a lot of time on Dauphine street, but Eugene takes him to a few museums and the store that he used to love as a kid that sells the Mardi Gras beads and masks and knick-knacks all year ‘round. 

“You know, Mardi Gras actually starting here in Mobile,” Eugene says to him while they’re inside. People from Mobile take Mardi Gras very seriously even though it only lasts a day. Eugene figures it’s because it’s an excuse to party and get drunk and stuff yourself with pancakes. They’ve been looking at masks and hats and jewelry for the past fifteen minutes, pointing out things they like. Eugene thinks Snafu is going to go broke with all of the things he keeps saying he wants to get. He must take this really seriously. 

Honestly, it’s good to see Merriell enthusiastic about something so mundane. Eugene didn’t even think that was possible. 

Merriell looks at him like he’s just commited the worst felony he’s ever seen. “No, no, no, my people back in New Orleans started Mardi Gras. Don’t get it twisted, Sledgehammer.”

“I’m serious,” Eugene says. He’s trying to hide a grin, content with the fact that of all things, this is what riles Merriell up the most. “We started it fifteen years before y’all started doing it in Louisiana.”

“Nuh-uh. Eugene Sledge, do not make me fight you. You know damn well I will.”

“Just because you won’t accept the truth don’t make it any less true.”

Merriell is just about fuming, and it’s the funniest thing he’s seen all day. He glances over at the store owner, a woman called Marlene who he’s known since he was a little boy. She gives him a knowing look. He pleads for her to help him make this better with his eyes. 

“He’s right,” she chimes in. Merriell narrows his eyes at the both of them. “We started in 1703. It’s been our tradition ever since.”

Merriell huffs, defeated. “Whateva’. Just ‘cause y’all did it first don’t mean we don’t do it better,  _ Cher _ .” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Eugene says, rolling his eyes, letting the pet-name roll past him. “Just shut up and put this on, will you?” In his hands he holds a golden mask made to look like a rabbit, with white detailing and yellow sparkles. Snafu had been eyeing it for a while. 

“I don’t--”

“Just do it. You’ve been looking at it for the past ten minutes.” Merriell gives him a look, something Eugene can’t identify, but takes it from Eugene’s hands and slips it on his face anyways. It’s weird, definitely weird, but in the good kind of way. The ears stretch above his mop of curls, some of which fall over the brim, and his whole face is obscured apart from his mouth. Eugene can see his eyes, stark and blue through the eye holes, the contrast of blue and gold suiting him. It even matches his neutral outfit choice today. Eugene clears his throat. “I’ll buy it.”

“I haven’t even seen it yet,” Merriell says through a smirk. 

“Don’t matter. You can do what you want with it. Hang it up. Throw it out for all I care, but I’m buying it.” He watches as Snafu takes it off and places it in his hands again. “Just, think of it as a gift. Something to remember me by when you go back to N’Orleans. ” 

“Who said I’m going back?” Merriell says, but before Eugene can get a word in, he’s walking out of the store and leaving Eugene with nothing but the mask in his hand. 

 

-

 

They decide to grab a bite to eat before they head back to Eugene’s apartment. They find a diner with cheap burgers and hefty milkshakes and decide it’s good enough for them. They both have a burger and split fries, but Eugene gives most of them to Snafu, who scarfs them down like he hasn’t eaten in days. Eugene likes seeing him eat. He’s put on some more weight over the past few weeks; no longer that twiggish man that Eugene had faced at his doorstep, but now starting to look like his old self; still skinny, but the healthy kind. 

“I don’t really like it anymore,” Merriell says out of nowhere. Both of them hadn’t really been in the mood for talking, instead opting for listening to whatever was on the jukebox (Maybe by Ink Spots, which Eugene notes makes Merriell smile, despite its dismal sound). Snafu must see that Eugene has no clue what he’s talking about because he smiles for a millisecond before elaborating. “Mardi Gras.”

Eugene nods slowly.

“I used to, when I was a kid. My mama used to take me every year. We’d go out and get pancakes before the parade. I wasn’t ever good at catchin’ them beads, so she used to do it for me and put ‘em around my neck. Used to weigh me down with all them on me. We stopped going when I was sixteen, but I still went sometimes. Wasn’t as fun by myself. But I don’t think I can do it this year, Sledge. It’s gonna be so loud,” Merriell explains. “I don’t do good with loud no more. Gives me the shakes.”

“I know, Mer. I don’t either.” Merriell pauses, looks at him. His eyes wide, but Eugene cannot put his finger on why. “Did I say something?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“You-- you called me my name,” Merriell says, and it sinks in after a second. Sure, Eugene refers to Merriell by his real name in his head, but nobody ever calls him that out loud. From the day he met Merriell, it’s always been Snafu, but it didn’t seem right for the moment. Maybe Eugene should have rethought. 

“Oh, sorry, Snaf--”

“No,” Merriell says, shaking his head. “I don’t mind. I ain’t used to it, is all.” 

Eugene smiles. “We should go soon. Catch the streetcar back home.”

Home. Eugene isn’t quite sure when his home became their home, but Merriell sleeps over every night, so it might as well be. Hell, Eugene doubts he’s ever leaving. He should get rid of the motel and just stay with Eugene while he’s here; it’d save him some money, at the very least. He can’t be making very much by patching up things at the motel and fixing air conditioners. 

Merriell smiles back. They share a look. “Sure thing, Sledgehammer.”

 

-

 

They both still have nightmares often, but not usually as bad as they used to be. They both sleep better with the other person beside them, tangled up in each other, providing a protection from each of their cruel minds. Their nightmares are still prevalent, but they simmer down to tossing and turning, the occasional whimper, never as bad as they used to be. Not with one of them to hold the other close. 

Tonight is different. And it’s not Eugene for once. In fact, he wakes up because he hears Merriell say his name. (He’s always been a light sleeper, and besides, way back when, he needed to be). 

At first he thinks that it’s him that had been flailing and that Merriell was waking him to calm him down, but once he wakes up enough he sees that this is not the case. Merriell’s body writhes beside his, Eugene’s name coming out every few seconds or so. He wants to wake Merriell, wants to pull him out of the hell he’s probably in, but his mind goes back to that promise Merriell made him make. What a stupid promise. He knows it’s for him own good. Knows that Merriell only did it because he didn’t want to harm Eugene, but it had never gotten like this, only some tossing and turning, enough that Eugene could just pull him in and subdue him like that. This is different. This is worse. 

“Gene,” Merriell grunts, more urgent this time. Eugene can only imagine what’s going on in his head. “Eugene, fuck  _ no _ .”

“Snaf,” he whispers, trying his hardest not to just shake him out of it.

“No, no, no, Eugene.  _ Eugene _ !”

Eugene can’t listen to him like this. He won’t let this happen to Merriell. Fuck the bloody promise.

“ _ Merriell _ .”

He bolts upright, panting hard, clutching his chest. All Eugene can do is watch, body seemingly frozen in place. And then Merriell lets out this sound and Eugene realizes, he’s crying. He’s never seen Merriell cry before. Back then, he though it was nearly impossible. He thought that he didn’t even have emotions. Because that’s what Merriell wanted him to think. 

Eugene sits further upright and pulls Merriell so that his head is pillowed on Eugene’s chest. “Gene,” he whispers pitifully, sniffling into Eugene’s shirt. 

“You’re alright,” Eugene tells him. He runs his fingers down Merriell’s back in an attempt to calm him, but all he gains is a shiver. He decides instead to slide his fingers into Merriell’s hair, combing through his curls, without a doubt making them frizzy, but ultimately calming him down enough that his choked sobs turn into ragged breaths. “I’m right here, Mer. You’re okay. We’re okay.”

He tilts up his head so that he can look Eugene in the eyes. “Say my name,” he says quietly, like he’s scared Eugene will turn on him. 

“Merriell,” Eugene whispers. 

“Eugene,” Merriell whispers back. Eugene can feel his breath fanning across his cheeks. For a moment, they’re just staring at each other, eyes now adjusted to the dark enough to just barely make out the other’s features, but they share a silent conversation between the two of them. An unsure question. A hesitant answer.

Eugene isn’t sure whether it’s him or Merriell who initiates it, but he does know very well that within a fraction of a second, he and Merriell are kissing. Everything sort of clicks into place for Eugene. It all makes sense. The reason his chest feels tight every time Merriell shoots him one of those typical smirks. The reason why it was Merriell who made him sleep better. Why Eugene always wants to give Merriell more. 

He tastes vaguely of cigarettes and toothpaste, his lips chapped, but slotting together with Eugene’s almost perfectly. The kiss is languid at first, a tired reassurance, but with time it pushes past the brink of relaxed and teeters into desperate. Somehow Merriell crawls into his lap, somehow Eugene’s hands slip under the fabric of the shirt Merriell borrowed from him. Somehow Merriell’s tongue slides past his parted lips. And it’s good; Eugene hasn’t felt this good in a while, despite the fact that it’s four in the morning and he should be exhausted, he feels exhilarated. 

“Mer,” he huffs out when Merriell trails slow opened mouth kisses down the side of his neck. Somehow Merriell slides so he’s in between Eugene’s legs, his whole body resting atop Eugene’s, and it should be uncomfortable but it isn’t. “ _ Merriell _ .”

“I ain’t crushin’ you, am I?” Merriell asks quietly. Eugene almost laughs, but shakes his head. He pulls Merriell back up to kiss him again, this time softer, less rushed. He lets his hands rest on the small of Merriell’s back. Merriel opts for messing up Eugene’s hair and letting his fingers rest there. 

“Are you okay?” Eugene asks after a while, once they can both breathe, once they can both see straight. Merriell nods under Eugene’s chin, his hair ticking Eugene’s neck. “Can I ask you a question, Mer?” All Eugene receives from him is a hum, so he takes it as a yes. “You don’t have to tell me. But. Why did you leave me? On the train?”

It’s quiet for a moment while Merriell collects his thoughts. “I knew I liked ya’ back then,” Merriell says. “I flirted with the nurses and the female vets but it was only for show. Only so people didn’t question it that much. A lotta guys knew. Word gets around, so guys would come to me if that’s what they fancied. Did it for smokes alotta the time. Some of em had the good ones. Sometimes for booze if any of ‘em had the good shit. But you walked in that day with your stupid fuckin’ parted hair and your little friend and I knew I couldn’t be in the same space as you. I’d want ya’ too bad. So I acted like a dick so you wouldn’t like me. Not too good with feelin’s if ya’ couldn’t tell. It got worse from there, y’know, we went through a lot.

“I was almost sad that the war was over. I figured, if one of us died, then that would be the end of whatever’s goin’ on. But we won by default. I flirted with that broad on the train to distract myself. I knew ya’ could never do that. Ya’ could never like me. I wasn’t a good person. I was dreadin’ goin’ home, Gene. I knew that if I left you, my sorry ass would never be able to live with it. So I didn’t say goodbye. I wanted to, but I saw you sleepin’ well for the first time in a long time and I couldn’t wake ya’ up to bother ya’. You needed it more than you needed me. That’s why I didn’t say goodbye. B’cause goodbyes are forever, Gene, and I didn’t think I could eva’ say goodbye to ya’.” 

Eugene sits back, stunned. He tries to process it all, but there’s a lot, so it takes him a while. Merriell must take it negatively back he pulls his hands out of Eugene’s hair and rolls off of him. 

“I had no idea,” he says. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t, then,” Merriell grumbles, clearly embarrassed. “S’just stupid stuff anyway.”

“Hey,” Eugene breathes, turning Merriell’s chin so that he’s looking at him. “It’s not stupid. It was thoughtful. I forgive you for not saying goodbye, Mer. I’d just thought I’d done something wrong is all.”

Merriell leans into Eugene’s palm where it rests on his cheek, sighing reverently. “We gotta lot to talk about.”

“Maybe,” Eugene says. “But not right now.”

“I don’t know if I can fall asleep again,” Merriell tells him truthfully. Eugene smiles tiredly. 

“Then just let me hold you.” 

Merriell nods. It’s a fate they can both settle for. 


End file.
